


Inferno

by mormoriarty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Gothic, Inspired, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormoriarty/pseuds/mormoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all quiet save for the sound of my own breathing, my heart beating a tattoo against my ribcage, and the air was still, unnaturally so. I stepped forward tentatively, lingering at the arched doorway and peering in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> This was a project to write a short story embodying a literary movement, for which I choose Gothicism. This work was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart", especially some of the narration style. 
> 
> WARNING: There is some pretty eerie imagery, and themes of death and decay.  
> I'll leave it up to you to decide whether the narrator is a man or a woman (Comment below what you think, I'm interested in knowing your opinion!)

Real? Of course, real! You think I was mistaken. You think I got carried away! Look! --the stone was solid underneath my fingertips while the music played around me. How, then, could it not have been real?

 

The crumbling grey castle, eroded by countless years of wind and rain, had a magnetic pull that I could not explain. I often walked past it on my way home; the quiet vastness of the great castle looming in the distance was somewhat comforting, able to overshadow any doubts and make my problems seem insignificant. But otherwise, the castle would go quite unnoticed in everyday life, its cold stone exterior in stark anachronistic contrast with the neon lights of the city.

Tonight I made the same journey as always, pulling the collar of my coat up against the cold. The wind rustled through the leaves, swirling them around on the pavement. In the distance, the clock tower chimed eleven times --by then, dark clouds had gathered ominously to dampen the glow of the moon overhead. I could see the castle grounds not too far away, its bleak trees devoid of their shriveled leaves, their barren branches reaching toward the overcast skies like gnarled, skeletal hands. Suddenly, the light behind me flickered, and I jumped as it made a loud popping sound and abruptly sputtered out. Warily, I kept walking, turning around at any suspicious noise. The air seemed colder now and I wrapped the coat tightly around myself, trying to reach home as fast as possible. I looked down at my wrist to check my watch, forgetting that it had stopped earlier. There was a large crack across the face of the watch.

I had just turned the corner, when suddenly, the heavens seemed to open up and it began pouring rain. I tried in vain to cover my head with the thin newspaper I was holding, only to be left with a pulpy mess in my hands. The castle was not too far away --perhaps I could duck inside for shelter until the rain tapered off.

So I ran --nearly slipped a few times in those dratted puddles --and finally made it to the tall, rusted iron gate of the castle. I pushed it open noiselessly and came to the great arched doorway of the castle. The door knocker bore the sigil of a large bird with bright red rubies in place of its beady eyes. I felt it watching me, its gaze upon me, like it was staring straight into my soul! One ruby was cracked, but the bird grasped the ring of the door knocker in its sharp beak. I reached out a hand to touch it, expecting the door to be locked, but it slowly opened.

 

It was all quiet save for the sound of my own breathing, my heart beating a tattoo against my ribcage, and the air was still, unnaturally so. I stepped forward tentatively, lingering at the arched doorway and peering in.

The long dining table was set for about twenty guests, and there they all were --pale figures in opulent gowns and pressed suits, paused as if halfway through a lovely dinner party, some with their utensils lifted halfway to their mouths as if they had been stopped in the midst of taking a bite. I walked around the table, inspecting the thick layer of dust that had gathered on the wooden surface. They must have been dead for hundreds of years --I could not tell how they had stayed in this condition, frozen perfectly in their moment of death. But the food on the table showed no sign of mold and lay perfectly unmarred. How had they been preserved? The castle was in no way closed off --no, I could feel the drafty breeze from the windows even now -- and yet, there were no visible signs of decay. Even the centerpiece, full of crimson roses and snowy sprigs of baby’s breath, had neither wilted nor lost any of its leaves. And the candles still burned brightly, flames unwavering even with the fierce howling wind from the windows, the wax barely melted. It was as if everything had been placed under stasis.

I could not help myself then --and oh, oh, so recklessly --I reached out to one of the beautiful porcelain-skinned ladies, touching her perfectly coiffed hair --how could I help myself? But under my fingers, a single auburn strand faded to pure white. I watched, enthralled, as a few more fell out onto the table and laid there amongst the crystal glasses of red wine and the heaping plates of carved meat and roasted vegetables. I plucked an apple from the fruit basket on the table, its skin shiny red and unblemished, and I took a large bite out of it. The juice tasted strangely like pomegranates.

The scene suddenly seemed to ripple before me, the guests’ bodies becoming warped and table looking shaky before my eyes. Another scene flickered on to replace it: bright fluorescent lighting and familiar red vinyl bar stools and a jukebox playing over in the corner. The same people sitting at the long dining table now appeared in the modern diner, updated by wearing shirts and hats and shorter dresses to fit the time, laughing and chatting as if they had not just been dead for hundreds of years in the castle --how could it be? I watched as a couple came in, the young man with his arm wrapped around the young woman, shaking off the rain with good spirits like it had not bothered them at all. There were beads of rainwater on the man’s silver watch and he wiped them off with the hem of his shirt. She leaned into him happily, her vibrant laughter blending with the bells hanging over the door that had twinkled and announced their arrival. She was pale and slender, her red dress making her just about the brightest thing in that whole restaurant. Was she the woman who had been sitting before me mere moments ago? Could she be?

And in the castle they had begun to move, shifting instantaneously from their stiffened poses in the gilded chairs into the merry fluidity of the dinner party. They carried on eating the food as if it was not hundreds of years old, talking casually and easily as if they had all the time in the world. I watched as the woman, wearing a flowing scarlet dress, raised her arm in a toast. The white was still visible in her hair. But the moment she clinked her glass together with everyone at the table, she cried out suddenly and the laughter stopped abruptly.

But then I could hear a soft muffled noise, a constant pitter-patter. What was that? The woman screamed, her hand flying to her face in shock as her arm melted away before her eyes. She had accidentally touched the candle flames, but somehow, its effect was akin to dragonfire. The liquefied --flesh, I supposed, what else? --dripped down her fingers and onto the tablecloth. How was this possible? I screamed, but everyone else had fallen quiet. You could soon see the bones of her hands, revealed after what was left of her skin had swirled onto the table into a little puddle.  All around the table, the guests were subjected to similar fates, soon frozen into their positions as the puddles coagulated beneath them and stuck them to the chairs, leaving behind regal corpses clothed in rich silks and gold jewellery.

The jukebox blared over in the corner, the recognizable melody of “Nature of Reality” easily tuned out by the customers’ loud conversations and the cook yelling out the orders. The man had ordered a steak, and the woman watched as he cut into it, the inside still dark pink, the blood seeping out onto the plate. Her back was turned to me, and tendrils of smoke curled from the cigarette she had lit. But she had not blown out the match, staring at the bright flame as if entranced.  I wanted to warn her that she would be burned, but I was struck dumb, staring at her hands --were they the same hands that I had just seen? The same ones that had just melted? How? I tried to find something in her features, anything, anything that I could see, anything, to prove that they were not the same person --no! They could not be the same person --no! --how could they be? No, no! But I could find no fault, no flaw, and no difference between the two, other than clothing. I was not meant to be here! She could not be the same woman! Was I back in the castle, dreaming? I needed to be! I was not meant to be here! This could not be right! No!

I watched with bated breath --for this was the moment of truth! The woman tossed aside the match carelessly, and she tucked her red hair behind her ears, revealing a small streak of white. No! It could not be her! She turned towards me, the air shimmering with heat and saturated with the cacophonous sounds of the diners --too loud! I could not even hear myself think! Too much! Too hot! The match had been the catalyst --the spark! the lit fuse! --for it to all come crashing down around us. It was then that I could see it --the thick, waxy tears running down the left side of her face, into the sunken socket of her eye and down the hollow gauntness of her face --she was melting again! The flames licked up the barstool, inches away from my feet. No! The woman extended her hand --no! I would not take it! The gates were closing- I did not belong here! No! --still smiling at me. Her lips formed a single word, pure poison: _Stay_.

The music had stopped, but then there it was again. No! The rhythm of a clock ticking, a drumbeat --a heartbeat --my heartbeat! No! They must surely be able to hear it! They knew! Louder --louder --louder it grew! No! Too much! Louder! Louder! They knew! They knew I was not meant to be here! Let me out! The fire blazed on. Dripping --plopping --falling --I finally looked down.

My fingers had melted away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, this was my actual aim for the short story below. It was meant to be pretty abstract in interpretations, so if you want to interpret it in your own way, go ahead! I'm actually really interested if anyone wants to share their theories. Feel free to ask any questions, and as always, comments are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> "This story was meant to explore the idea of death, through the people at the dinner party who, though once in stasis, eventually melt away and are turned into corpses. Within the story, there are also subtle allusions to the Greek myth of Persephone, who was tricked by Hades into staying in the Underworld after she ate some pomegranate seeds. There are also references to the Christian story of Adam and Eve with the apple that the narrator eats, and Hell with the flames that are meant to represent hellfire. The narrator is meant to be struggling with acceptance of death, as they have died in the diner, and the castle is merely an in-between before the afterlife/ underworld. But the narrator is tricked into staying in “Hell” when they bite into the fruit, a symbol of temptation and sin (from Adam and Eve), and must wait helplessly to be melted and turned into a corpse." (Also inspired by this music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ijel4Vcqd9g)


End file.
